A Deal With the Devil
by Mare43
Summary: A sequel to the story "To Be Seventeen", the Cohen's make plans to adopt Ryan as he begins to adjust to life in Newport, much to Caleb's dismay. When Caleb concocts a plan to rid his family of Ryan, he quickly begins to realize he may have actually made a deal with the devil.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

**A/N:** This story is AU and takes place early season one, a couple of weeks after "To Be Seventeen" ended.

David Letterman's "Top Ten List" is courtesy of CBS.

**Prologue**

_"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. I have here tonight's Top Ten List..."_

Ryan slowly opens his eyes and turns his head towards the voice coming from the television set. _David Letterman_, he thinks to himself, blinking a few times as he tries to focus his eyes.

_"Here are the top ten signs your lifeguard is nuts. Number ten..."_

Everything remains blurred as the pounding in Ryan's head becomes louder... the applause from the talk show audience stabbing him brutally behind his eyes as excruciating pain engulfs his entire head. Ryan groans softly as he places his left hand on his face and rubs his eyes, hoping that when he opens them again he'll be able to see more clearly.

_"Number eight... when waves destroy a sand castle, frantically searches for tiny people."_

Ryan hears laughter but is unable to discern if the sound is coming from the TV or from someone in the room. _Where am I? _Ryan asks himself, realizing he's laying in a bed that's not his own and his entire right arm is numb. He reaches up over his head and begins to massage his lifeless limb with his left hand until he begins to feel the blood flow slowly return.

_"Number six... when sitting in the lifeguard stand, insists on wearing a bib."_

Ryan tries to move his right arm but is quickly stopped by something restraining him. He warily glances up at the bedpost and sees a handcuff wrapped around his wrist. He yanks the handcuff as hard as he can but is only met with more pain. Panic begins to rise up inside him as he tries desperately to remember what happened.

_"Number four... has a paralyzing fear of terry cloth."_

Ryan continues to look around the room as his eyes slowly regain their focus. He sees a large neon sign through the small opening of a worn curtain with the red letters "vac" blinking. _I'm in a motel room_, he thinks to himself as he hears a loud, guttural laugh from a man in the room. _I've heard that laugh before_, he thinks to himself as intense dread begins to creep up over him.

_"And the number one sign your lifeguard is nuts... keeps trying to give himself CPR!"_

Ryan hears the click of the remote shutting off the TV and struggles to sit up in the bed. He swallows the bile rising in his throat as fear quickly begins to take over. Perspiration clings to his warm forehead and his heart begins to beat rapidly as the shadow of a large, foreboding figure stands ominously over him.

"Well, well... it's about fuckin' time you woke up."

"Dad?"

"Hello, son."


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

**A/N:** This story is AU and takes place early season one, a couple of weeks after "To Be Seventeen" ended. Also, I've written the character of Frank Atwood differently then how he was portrayed both physically and personality-wise on the show. In my story, Frank Atwood is not a nice person.

**Chapter One**

**One day earlier...**

"I don't think your grandfather likes me too much," Ryan says as he watches Seth pace around the poolhouse, looking like he's ready to burst. "He kept sneering at me all through dinner last night."

"He just met you, Ryan. Plus, Grandpa sneers at everyone. His face has like... I don't know... permanent 'sneerage'," Seth explains, desperate to change the subject. "Now, about Summer... how do I get her to notice me? School's starting in a couple of weeks... I need help here!"

"When you see her, why don't you just go over and talk to her," Ryan states, feeling he's given his friend some logical, sound advice.

"Taahl... taahl... you want me to ta... ta... talk to Summer Roberts?" Seth stutters, flabbergasted by such a ridiculous notion.

"Yeah, talk... it's something you do quite well," Ryan reasons.

"Well, have you asked Marissa out on a date yet? Huh?"

"No, I haven't."

"Ah, hah! You probably haven't even talked to her and she lives right next door!" Seth declares as he folds his arms across his chest and leans against the dresser. "Sounds like you, my friend, need to heed your own advice."

"Actually, I have talked to her, Seth. I went over to her house last week to thank her for the cd she made for me," Ryan explains as he makes his bed, recalling the last time he saw Marissa. "Luke was there. I'm not about to ask her out while she's still seeing Luke."

"Ryan, come on... we're going to be late," Kirsten says as she peeks her head into the poolhouse, interrupting the boy's conversation.

"Just a couple of more minutes, Mom," Seth implores. "We're discussing something of extreme importance!"

"It can wait," Kirsten states firmly. "The counselor, on the other hand, cannot wait."

"Fine... I'll just hang out here while some half-cracked shrink asks Ryan a bunch of probing, personal questions at two-hundred bucks an hour," Seth bemoans as he grabs the latest comic book he lent to his friend and plops down in the easy chair.

"Seth, you're not helping," Kirsten chastises, knowing Ryan has not been looking forward to seeing a counselor.

Ryan reluctantly grabs his jacket off the back of the chair and starts walking towards Kirsten with his head lowered. Even though the late August morning is warm, he knows there will be an unsettling chill in the psychologist's office.

Kirsten smiles with understanding and places her arm around Ryan as they walk back to the main house. "It'll be alright, Ryan," Kirsten assures the quiet teenager, knowing that seeing a counselor will be difficult for the boy at first. "This was one of the stipulations that the social worker made when she allowed us to remain your legal guardians. We gave Mrs. Forrester our word that you would receive counseling."

"You think there's something wrong with me," Ryan says quietly as they walk slowly through the kitchen, not understanding why he can't just talk to Sandy and Kirsten whenever he has a problem.

"No, we don't think there's anything wrong with you," Kirsten assures as she stops walking and turns Ryan towards her so she can look the boy directly in his eyes. "But, we came so close to losing you... we do not want to go through that again. This is important, Ryan. We all need to cooperate with Child Services."

Kirsten grabs her purse and car keys off the entryway table and opens the front door to leave. "Dad, what are you doing here?" Kirsten asks, surprised to see her father standing on the doorstep.

"Can't a father come by and see his own daughter?" Caleb asks as he steps into the foyer. "Ryan," he states with indifference, acknowledging the teenager although it pains him to do so.

"Dad, you were just here last night for dinner," Kirsten says impatiently as she looks at her watch.

"Where are you off to in such a hurry?" Caleb asks, frustrated by his daughter's standoffish behavior. "We need to go over the proposal for this afternoon's meeting..."

"Dad, we just went over that proposal last night after dinner. We can go over it again when I get into the office," Kirsten says as she and Ryan start walking out the doorway. "The plans are in the kitchen on the breakfast bar. I should be in the office around noon... I'll call you if I'm delayed."

Caleb stands in a state of shock as he watches his daughter quickly leave the house with Ryan in tow and shut the door behind her. _How dare she put that no-good street punk before work_, Caleb thinks to himself as he starts walking down the hallway towards the kitchen. He abruptly stops outside the home office when he hears someone talking on the phone. _It's Monday morning_, Caleb thinks to himself. _Why in the world is Sandy home? _

Caleb quietly walks into the kitchen to retrieve the plans for the afternoon's meeting when he eyes the home phone sitting on the counter. He hesitates for a brief moment, then carefully picks up the phone and listens in on his son-in-law's private conversation...

_"When did he get out, Sam?" Sandy asks his colleague as he rubs his right temple, trying to stave off an oncoming headache._

_"He was paroled a week ago."_

_"A week ago," Sandy repeats, sighing as he loses the battle with pain and reaches for the bottle of aspirin in his desk drawer. "I knew this was coming... he got twelve to fifteen for armed robbery, prisons are overcrowded..."_

_"You don't think he'll cause any problems, do you?"_

_"No, I don't think Frank wants anything to do with his son," Sandy explains to his colleague. "To my knowledge, he's never even tried to contact Ryan since he was incarcerated nine years ago. He didn't hesitate signing over his parental rights when Kirsten and I became Ryan's legal guardians."_

_"So why do I detect a hint of apprehension in your voice?"_

_"I don't know, Sam... I feel the kid is finally starting to make some strides... he's beginning to adjust living here with us," Sandy says, thinking back to how close they came to losing Ryan just a couple of weeks ago. "He's recovered from the pneumonia and is starting therapy... Kirsten and I are even looking into adopting him."_

Caleb quickly places his hand over the receiver as he catches his breath, mulling over the words "adopting him" and not liking what he's hearing.

_"Are you going to tell the boy?"_

_"I'm not sure... I really don't know what good would come of it," Sandy says, pondering the idea of telling Ryan his father is out of prison. "His mother just signed over her parental rights last week when she decided to move to Albuqueque with her new boyfriend. Kirsten and I have set the adoption process in motion..."_

_"Well, that's great news, Sandy. Congratulations... you know I wish you and your family the best."_

_"Thanks, Sam. But, we haven't told Ryan that we want to adopt him yet. We're not sure how the kid will react. It may be too soon, but Kirsten and I both feel that not only will it be best for Ryan, but making him an official member of our family will be best for all of us."_

Caleb places the phone back down on the kitchen counter as he hears the two men end their call. _There is no way in hell that hoodlum will become an heir to my family's fortune,_ Caleb snarls to himself as he grabs the plans for the upcoming proposal and quickly exits the house, urgently taking his cell phone out of his suit pocket to call his lawyer.

"Karl... Caleb Nichol calling."

_"Yes Cal, what can I do for you?"_

"Is that young hotshot investigator still working for you? What's his name..."

_"Vinnie... yeah, he's still here. What do you need?"_

"A favor... but I need to know I can trust him. Complete discretion is of the utmost importance."

_"He can be trusted, Cal. You have my word. Vinnie's done... well, let's just say... you needn't worry about discretion."_

"I need him to find someone for me," Caleb instructs as he walks down the driveway back to his car.

_"No problem... Vinnie can find anyone. Who is it?"_

"Frank Atwood."

"_Name doesn't ring a bell. Is he a past client?"_

"Ex-con... just got paroled a week ago," Caleb explains. "I just need to know where he is and how to contact him."

_"I'll get Vinnie on it right away, Cal."_

"Thanks... oh, and one more thing, Karl."

_"Yes, Cal?"_

"I'll be stopping by your office today before noon."

_"No problem, Cal... I'll clear my schedule. May I ask what's so urgent?"_

Caleb stops in the driveway and peers up at the house he bought for his daughter and son-in-law. _My house... my money, _Caleb thinks to himself. _That good-for-nothing car thief isn't getting his grimy hands on my fortune... my empire..._

_"Cal? Are you still there?"_

"Karl, I'm coming over to your office right now... I need to make a few changes to my will."


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

**A/N:** This story is AU and takes place early season one, a couple of weeks after "To Be Seventeen" ended. Also, I've written the character of Frank Atwood differently then how he was portrayed both physically and personality-wise on the show. In my story, Frank Atwood is not a nice person.

And please keep in mind, I tend to write Kirsten much more "maternally" with regards to Ryan, than how she was portrayed on the show. I always loved their chemistry and wished their relationship had been more fully developed.

**Chapter Two**

"Ryan? Could you answer the question, please?"

Ryan sits quietly as he stares down at his lap, his arms folded securely across his chest as he lets the silence linger in the air.

"Ryan?" After he still gets no response, Dr. Evans sighs and jots down some observations on his notepad. _Guarded, distrustful... _"Ryan, what's the first word that comes into your mind when you think of Mr. Cohen?"

Ryan looks around the meticulously-kept office with it's dark mahogany wood paneling and tan leather seating. "Protector," Ryan replies with a monotone voice as he gazes past the psychologist's head, perusing through the numerous titles located in the bookcase behind him.

"Okay, can you elaborate on that?"

Ryan looks at the psychologist, Dr. Gabriel Evans... a relatively handsome man in his early fifties with graying hair and warm, brown eyes slightly obscured by round, wire-rimmed glasses; his aging face gracefully creased with laugh lines framed with a perfectly-trimmed salt and pepper beard and mustache. _Why do shrinks always seem to have beards,_ Ryan thinks to himself.

"You said 'protector'," Dr. Evans repeats as he tries to coax the boy into saying more.

"Sandy protects Kirsten and Seth... a man is supposed to protect his family," Ryan states emphatically.

"I agree... a man should protect his family," Dr. Evans iterates, thankful to be finally engaging in some dialogue with the reserved teenager. "But, sometimes that isn't always the case... is it."

Ryan immediately looks back down at his lap as he wonders what direction the doctor will be taking the conversation.

"Tell me about your father."

_Oh, here we go, _Ryan thinks to himself as he rolls his eyes. _Now he thinks I have "daddy" issues... _"There's nothing much to say," Ryan states, his voice devoid of emotion as he peers up at Dr. Evans. "My father's been in prison for nine years... I haven't seen or talked to him for almost ten and before you ask, no... I don't care if I ever see that asshole son-of-a-bitch again."

"Fair enough," Dr. Evans states, seeing the hour is almost up and feeling he's pushed the boy enough for one session. "We'll meet here again same time next Monday. When school starts, we'll move the appointment to later in the afternoon."

"Fine," Ryan utters beneath his breath as he stands up to leave, feeling he can't get out of the office fast enough.

"Ryan, one more thing," Dr. Evan says as he quickly walks over to his desk to grab a business card. "Take this... it has my office and cell numbers. You can call me anytime, day or night. If you feel you need to meet with me before our next scheduled appointment, let me know... I'll make the time."

"Okay, thanks," Ryan politely responds, accepting the business card and placing it in his jacket pocket as he opens the office door to leave.

Kirsten quickly stands up when she sees Ryan and Dr. Evans enter the waiting room.

"I'll be out in the car," Ryan says quietly with his head lowered and hands tucked firmly in his jacket pockets as he brushes past Kirsten to leave.

Kirsten watches as Ryan makes a beeline out of the waiting room and sighs. "It went that well, huh," she says to the doctor, not all that surprised by the boy's reluctance to embrace therapy.

"It'll take some time, but I've worked with kids like Ryan before," Dr. Evans assures. "He'll come around."

"Dr. Evans, my husband and I are looking into adopting Ryan," Kirsten says, hoping the psychologist won't object to dispensing some free advice. "But, we're not sure if we should tell him yet. It's going to take a few months or maybe even longer to get through the process and finalize all the paperwork..."

"I would hold off telling Ryan about the adoption, at least for a little while," Dr. Evans advises, hoping that his young patient will start opening up more in the next couple of sessions. "It's been a whirlwind couple of months for the boy. Today I tried to get him to talk about his parents. He refused to say anything regarding his mother and said very little about his father," Dr. Evans says, somewhat frustrated he couldn't get the boy to open up more. "This kid has major trust issues. You need to keep in mind that both of his parents have basically abandoned him. They've given you and your husband, two people they don't even know, legal guardianship of their son," Dr. Evans explains, nodding to his next patient as she steps into the waiting room. "Even though this is probably the best thing that could happen to the boy, if you look at it from Ryan's perspective, it has to hurt... deep down inside... to be rejected by the two people in his life who are supposed to care for him and give him unconditional love."

"You're right," Kirsten agrees solemnly as she realizes the emotional pain the boy must be experiencing. "I appreciate your candor... we'll hold off telling Ryan until you feel he's ready. We don't want to overwhelm him... we care deeply for Ryan and just want to do what's best for him."

As Kirsten makes her way to the parking lot, she notices Ryan sitting in the front seat of the Rover, his eyes closed and his head resting against the passenger side window.

"Ryan? Are you alright?" Kirsten asks with concern as she gets in behind the wheel and turns on the ignition.

"I'm fine... just tired," Ryan replies as he slowly opens his eyes and gazes over at Kirsten. "I seem to get tired so easily."

Kirsten smiles warmly as she takes Ryan's hand and squeezes it gently. "Well, it was just a couple of weeks ago you were in the hospital with pneumonia. Dr. Morrison said that even after you've recovered, it may take weeks... even months, to get back feeling like your normal self." Kirsten keeps her eyes on Ryan as she watches him yawn and lean his head back against the headrest. "And I think I'll tell Seth not to wake you up so early in the morning," she says patting the top of his hand before putting the car in reverse. "School's starting soon... you need to get as much rest as you can."

_School's starting soon_, Kirsten repeats to herself as she pulls out of the parking lot, recalling when she took both boys to the mall just the other day to shop for school clothes. The saleslady had commented on what a good-looking son she had, pointing directly to Ryan. _"You two look so much alike... same blond hair and blue eyes,"_ she had told Kirsten as they both watched the boy slowly turn pale when he read the pricetags on the t-shirts. Kirsten remembers she was going to correct the saleslady and tell her she wasn't Ryan's biological mother, but then quickly stopped herself. _I'll be his mother soon_, Kirsten reminds herself, knowing she needs to remain patient during the adoption process. Kirsten finds herself laughing softly as she remembers watching Ryan finally make his way over to the fifty-percent-off sales rack, his face still an expression of pain and discomfort as he cringed at the cost of the clothing.

"What's so funny?" Ryan asks, curious why Kirsten is suddenly smiling.

"Huh? Oh, it's nothing sweetheart," Kirsten replies as she's abruptly brought out of her reverie. "I'm just relieved that you're well again and you're safe... I'm so happy that we're all back together again.

Ryan smiles as he's again touched by the fact this family even wants him around. _Maybe the Atwood luck has finally changed_, he thinks to himself.

Kirsten pulls up in front of the house to drop Ryan off before heading to the office. "I can pick up dinner on my way home from work," she says as Ryan makes his way out of the Rover. "What are you in the mood for, pizza or Thai?"

"Why don't you choose," Ryan replies graciously, not feeling comfortable deciding what the family should eat for dinner. "Either is fine with me."

"All right then... Thai it is!" Kirsten declares with a smile as she drives away to the office, praying her father won't be too upset that she's running so late.

* * *

Caleb Nichol sits staunchly at his desk, drumming his fingers over the proposal plans as he waits impatiently for his daughter to show up to work. _What in the world could she be doing with that low-life street punk,_ he thinks to himself, wondering what is keeping her so long.

Kirsten hurriedly walks into Caleb's office, frustrated with not being able to spend more time with Ryan after his first therapy session.

"So nice of you to show up for work today," Caleb states, his voice laced with sarcasm as he glances over at the clock.

"I'm sorry I'm late, Dad," Kirsten apologizes with sincerity. "The traffic was horrible!"

"Humph," Caleb utters with slight contempt, not appreciating being kept waiting. "So tell me, how long has the boy been seeing a therapist?"

"How did you know Ryan's seeing a therapist?" Kirsten asks, surprised by her father's intimate knowledge of their family's personal issues.

"Sanford told me," Caleb lies, hoping her daughter will be forthcoming. "So tell me, why is the boy in therapy?"

"That is none of your business..."

"It is too my business!" Caleb shouts, slamming his fist down on his desk in frustration. "That boy is dangerous! He's a no-good juvenile delinquent who stole a car and then burned down my model home! Having him around not only puts you in danger but puts my grandson in danger as well!"

"We are not in danger, Dad," Kirsten explains, frustrated with her father's contemptuousness. "And you know the fire was an accident. Ryan could have died in that fire!"

Caleb scoffs as he quickly brushes off his daughter's defensive words. "Is there anything else I should know about the boy?" Caleb asks, fishing for more information. "Anything that might be going on that you would care to tell me about?" Caleb stares intently at Kirsten as he waits for his daughter to tell him about her and Sandy's plan to adopt Ryan.

"Ryan is a good kid, Dad," Kirsten states firmly, tired of her father's distrust and disparaging remarks. "You just met him... give him a chance. You'll see he's a good kid."

_That is never going to happen_, Caleb thinks to himself as he hears his cell phone ring and notices it's his lawyer calling. "I need to take this call. I'll meet you in conference room two." Caleb watches as his daughter leaves the office, then picks up his phone to answer.

"Karl, what do you have for me?" Caleb says, getting straight to the point. "Has Vinnie located Frank Atwood?"

_"He's staying at the Motel 6 in Corona, room number twelve," _Karl replies, happy to relay the information to his most prominent and influential client.

"Good work, Karl," Caleb states, happy with the prompt results his money affords him. "I assume you're handling the other matter as we speak?"

_"Passports... driver's licenses... all being taken care of, Cal."_

"Excellent... You'll find a substantial bonus in your account," Caleb says as he makes his way towards the conference room. "I'm sure it will meet with your approval."

_"I'm sure it will, Cal... and as always, it's been a pleasure doing business with you."_


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

**A/N:** This story is AU and takes place early season one, a couple of weeks after "To Be Seventeen" ended. Also, I've written the character of Frank Atwood differently then how he was portrayed both physically and personality-wise on the show. In my story, Frank Atwood is not a nice person.

**Chapter Three**

Caleb exits off the Riverside Freeway and drives into downtown Corona. He searches both sides of the street until he finds his destination... the Motel 6. Caleb slowly drives through the parking lot, looking at the room numbers on the doors. With the sun setting and the hour getting late, Caleb hopes he'll be able to conclude his business tonight. He glances down at the black, leather briefcase nestled next to him on the passenger side seat and smiles. _The man's been in prison_, Caleb thinks to himself. _There is no possible way he will say "no"._

Caleb stops his car as he spots room number twelve located at the very end of the motel. He parks alongside an old, black Ford F150, a truck that has seen better days. As Caleb walks towards the door, he quickly clears his throat and straightens his tie in anticipation of meeting a man who has just spent the last nine years in prison and is known for his violent temper. Caleb knocks on the door and waits for Frank Atwood to answer.

"Who the hell are you?" Frank asks, his voice low and raspy from years of smoking as he opens the door, not appreciating his evening being interrupted.

"Mr. Atwood, my name is Caleb Nichol..."

"Well, good for you," Frank spits out sarcastically as he takes a swig of his beer. "But, I don't know ya and I'm not in the mood for a social visit." Frank begins to shut the door but is hindered as Caleb quickly puts his arm up to block it from closing.

"This isn't a social visit," Caleb explains, his demeanor cool; his voice calm. "I have a business proposition for you... believe me, you want to hear what I have to say."

Frank cocks an eyebrow and finds himself intrigued with the impeccably-dressed gentleman standing before him. "Alright... you got my attention," Frank states as he steps aside, allowing Caleb to enter the room.

Caleb steps inside the small motel room, shuddering at the notion of how anyone could tolerate sleeping in a place that charges less than fifty dollars a night.

"You said you have a business proposition?" Frank asks, his interest piqued as he pries for more information.

Caleb observes the man standing before him, somewhat surprised with what little family resemblance he shares with his youngest son. He notices the closely shorn brown hair, the stubble on his face not quite obscuring an ugly, jagged scar on his chin and the numerous tattoos on his forearms. This man is tall and thick, standing at six feet with burly muscles no doubtedly enhanced from his years of incarceration. _Why in the world do we allow convicts access to weightlifting equipment_, Caleb thinks to himself as he walks over and places his briefcase down on the small desk. _They just come out of the system meaner and stronger._

"I have in this briefcase ten thousand dollars," Caleb states matter-of-factly as he unlatches the case to reveal its contents. Caleb glances over, noticing Frank's beady, icy blue eyes narrowing and finds himself feeling somewhat uneasy in the man's presence.

"What's the hitch, Pops," Frank snorts as he folds his beefy arms across his overly-developed chest. "I wasn't born yesterday."

"This money... think of it as a downpayment... an investment, if you wish," Caleb explains, needing to keep the upper hand during the exchange. "You will receive forty thousand more if you agree to take your son, Ryan, and leave the country."

Frank lets out a boisterous laugh as he listens to the man's proposition. "I haven't seen Ryan since he was six years old! Last I remember, the stupid fuck was hidin' in his bedroom closet..."

"I really don't care what Ryan was doing," Caleb interrupts, not interested in the boy's harrowing past and needing to impress upon the man that this is a one-time offer. "Your son has somehow ingratiated himself into my family and I intend to see that he is stopped."

"Okay, don't blame ya there," Frank says as he lights up a cigarette and finishes off the rest of his beer. "The kid's always been a colossal pain in the ass."

"When it's confirmed you have your son, you will receive forty thousand more along with passports and driver's licenses to assist you in your one-way trip out of this country," Caleb explains, his voice stern and sober. "I don't care where you go... Canada, Mexico... the moon... as long as you leave and take your two-bit punk of a son with you."

Frank rubs the stubble on his chin with his hand as he contemplates the man's proposal. "You said your name is Nichol," Frank states as he stares at the money in the briefcase. "I seem to remember a family with the last name 'Cohen' took my kid in after my ex... god bless her drunken soul... skipped town."

Caleb clears his throat and closes the briefcase. "My misguided, liberal-minded son-in-law brought Ryan into my family's life. I need to know, Mr. Atwood... do we have a deal?"

Frank lets an uncomfortable silence fill the room as he ponders the perks fifty grand will afford him south of the border. _Smooth tequila and sweet senoritas_, he muses to himself. "You got yourself a deal," Frank states as he walks over to retrieve the briefcase full of money. "But I got a small matter I need to take care of first."

"Oh?" Caleb asks, not appreciating his proposal being placed on the back burner.

"I just got a score to settle... ya know... gotta take care of some unfinished business."

"Fine... as long as it doesn't hinder our arrangement," Caleb states firmly as he starts walking towards the door to leave. "Here's my business card... contact me when you have possession of your son."

Frank flashes a wicked, mischievous grin as he watches Caleb Nichol exit his motel room. _I have had a strange hankerin' to see my baby boy_, Frank muses to himself. _And the prospect of fifty grand just made this little family reunion all the more sweeter..._

* * *

Ryan stretches both his arms over his head as he yawns and slowly opens his eyes, greeting the bright, sunny morning. He glances over at the clock and sees it's already nine and looks around the room. _Where's Seth? _Ryan asks himself as he gets out of bed, befuddled his friend let him sleep in so late.

Ryan makes his way to the main house and walks into the kitchen to get a glass of orange juice. The house is eerily quiet for a Tuesday morning and Ryan wonders if he's all alone. _I've never been alone in the main house before,_ Ryan thinks to himself. _ Only the poolhouse_. Ryan sets a glass down on the breakfast bar and begins to pour his juice when he sees him... Captain Oats... perched next to the coffee maker on a piece of notepaper. "What are you doing out of your room, Captain Oats?" Ryan asks no one in particular as he walks over and picks up the toy horse to read the handwritten note.

_"Ryan, my closest and dearest friend, _

_Mom had to bring me to the dentist this morning. It appears that I may have a cavity. In the event I don't make it, I'm leaving you my entire collection of comic books and music cd's. I'm also entrusting you with taking care of Captain Oats._

_Sincerely, _

_Your good friend, Seth."_

Ryan smiles at his friend's melodramatic writing. _You're getting a cavity filled_, Ryan thinks to himself as he sets the horse back down and finishes his orange juice. _You're not having open heart surgery_.

As Ryan rinses his glass and places it in the dishwasher, he's suddenly startled by the phone ringing. _Oh no_... Ryan thinks to himself. _ I hope Seth is alright..._

"Hello, Cohen's residence," Ryan answers.

_"Ryan? That you?"_

"This is Ryan... Who is..."

_"Hey, it's your Uncle Lenny..."_

"Uncle Lenny!" Ryan exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. "It's great to hear from you! How are you?"

_"I'm doin' okay, kid... how's everything with you? The Cohen's treatin' you well?"_

"Everything's great!" Ryan replies, choosing to leave out the one aspect of his life he could do without at the moment... therapy.

_"That's good to hear, kid... Say, I was wonderin' if you weren't doin' anything today, that maybe we could get together and have lunch."_

"I'd really like that," Ryan replies earnestly. "But, Sandy and Kirsten aren't here right now. I will need to clear it with one of them first."

_"Already did... I spoke with Sandy a couple of days ago and told him I was going to be in town this week..."_

"Sandy didn't mention anything to me about that," Ryan says, confused that he wasn't told his uncle wanted to see him.

_"He probably just forgot. You know lawyers... they can be a little absent-minded when they're overworked..."_

"Yeah, you're probably right," Ryan says in agreement. "Sandy was acting a little strange yesterday... preoccupied with something... probably work."

_"I'm stayin' here at the Mermaid Inn, workin' on a surveillance case. This woman hired me to get evidence her husband is cheatin' on her. He just showed up with some young bimbo so I gotta stay here and catch 'em... ahem... in the act, so to speak."_

Ryan cringes slightly as he tries to imagine the work his uncle does on a daily basis.

_"Do you know where the Mermaid Inn is located? I was hopin' that you could come over here. I'll finish up this job and then I thought we could walk down to the pier and grab a bite to eat... my treat."_

"Yeah, I know where it is. Seth and I pass by it a lot when we go down to the pier," Ryan says as he glances over at the clock and sees it's close to ten. "I can ride my bike over... just need to take a quick shower. I should be there before noon."

_"That's great, kid... I'm in room 104. Door's unlocked so just let yourself in."_

"Okay, Uncle Lenny... I'll see you soon," Ryan says as he hangs up and quickly makes his way back to the poolhouse to shower and dress.

"Bravo... bravo..." Frank gushes, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he slowly claps his hands in approval. "That was truly an Oscar-winning performance, Lenny. You know, if you and Dawnie weren't such screw-ups, I swear you both could've had a career in show business."

"What do you want, Frank?" Lenny says nervously as he sits on the edge of the bed and stares at the gun his ex-brother-in-law has brandished in his hand. "And, what in the world do you want with Ryan? The kid is finally doing well..."

"It's none of your business what I'm gonna do with my kid," Frank snarls as he leans down and stares directly into Lenny's fearful eyes. "But, you and me... we got some unfinished business concerning that night I was arrested."

"Don't know what you're talkin' about, Frank," Lenny says, trying desperately to stay calm as he watches the menacing ex-con point the gun in his direction.

Frank lets out a derisive laugh and presses the muzzle of the gun firmly into Lenny's right temple.

Lenny tries to swallow but his throat is bone dry. His heart pounds relentlessly while perspiration drips from his forehead as he waits for Frank to pull the trigger.

"Do ya think I'm stupid?" Frank asks with disdain in his voice. "I've spent nine years... nine fuckin' long years thinkin' why... Why would my own brother-in-law rat me out and call the cops..."

"I didn't call..."

"Don't lie to me, Lenny," Frank states, his voice stern and steady. "I don't like it when people lie to me... makes me very angry. Do you want me to get angry, Lenny?"

"No... no I do not," Lenny says quietly, shivering at the tone of Frank's voice as he stares straight ahead, his words barely audible due to his shaky voice.

"I know you were followin' me that night," Frank says, his voice low and unnerving. "You suck at P.I. work, ya know? Rule number one... when followin' someone ya know, don't use your own car." Frank pauses for a brief moment as he detects a hitch in Lenny's breath. "Rule number two... stay at least three car lengths back. Jesus, you were so fuckin' obvious... stuck out like a sore thumb." Frank again pauses, smirking with sadistic pleasure as he watches his former brother-in-law squirm slightly on the bed. "And rule number three... don't except jobs from family members." Frank takes a long drag from his cigarette before blowing the smoke directly into Lenny's face. "Dawnie talks in her sleep."

Frank lowers his gun and leans back against the dresser, observing the fearful man sitting in front of him. "It was barely two minutes after I robbed that place and the cops were all over me," Frank explains, flicking the ashes of his cigarette towards Lenny. "Only one way they could've done that... I tied up that gas station attendant and there was no one else around."

"Fine... ya got me," Lenny says, tired of playing the game. "So what now? Ya gonna shoot me?"

"Why in the world would I waste a perfectly good bullet on a rotten piece of shit like you," Frank spits out as he peers through a small slit in the curtain and notices a teenage boy riding his bike into the parking lot. Frank grins at the sight of his son before glancing back towards Lenny. "You sit still... be real quiet, ya hear?"

Lenny's heart pounds with anxiety as he keeps his eye on the gun and watches Frank step against the wall next to the motel room door.

Ryan parks his bike next to a black Ford F150 truck and searches for room number 104. When he spots the room, he quickly makes his way over, looking forward to seeing his uncle.

Frank places his finger up to his lips. "Shhh... don't make a sound..." he directs towards Lenny, noticing the man turning pale, looking as if he's ready to pass out.

"Uncle Lenny?" Ryan asks as he slowly opens the door. Ryan peeks his head into the room and spots his uncle sitting on the edge of the bed. "Uncle Len..."

"Ryan, run! Get the hell outta here, kid!" Lenny blurts out, but he finds his warning too late.

At that moment, Ryan feels a searing pain on the back of his head from being hit with a blunt object. Suddenly everything goes black as he falls to the floor, unconsciousness taking over...

"Jesus, Frank! What are you doing?" Lenny pleads as he sees his nephew laying lifeless on the floor.

"Don't you worry about the kid," Frank says nonchalantly as he tucks his gun in the back of his jeans after knocking out his son. "You really should start worryin' about yourself."

Lenny begins to panic as he watches two menacing-looking men enter his motel room, one holding a baseball bat; the other, a lead pipe. Frank steps over his son's body to grab the remote and clicks on the TV, turning the volume up high.

"Teach him a lesson... but don't kill him," Frank instructs as he drags his son's lifeless body over his broad shoulder and glances back at Lenny. "Just... make him suffer."

Frank looks around the parking lot, pleased to see that no one is around. He hears the first crack of a bat and an agonizingly loud wail being drowned out by the ruckus of two women catfighting on "Jerry Springer". _Tuesday afternoon... this place is dead_, Frank thinks to himself as he quickly makes his way to his truck and settles his unconscious son in the passenger side seat. Frank reclines the back of the seat and straps the boy in, then grabs the bike and tosses it into the back of the truck. He jumps into the driver's seat, turns on the ignition and begins making his way back to Corona.

"It's you and me now, kid," Frank says aloud in case the boy can hear him. "You behave yourself... do as your told and everything will be fine."

_Yep, things are finally lookin' up for a change_, Frank thinks to himself as he envisions holding fifty thousand dollars in his hands. _ In a couple of days, we'll be livin' it up in good ol' Mexico..._


	5. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of the characters of The OC. They all belong to Josh Schwartz.

**A/N:** This story is AU and takes place early season one, a couple of weeks after "To Be Seventeen" ended. Also, I've written the character of Frank Atwood differently then how he was portrayed both physically and personality-wise on the show. In my story, Frank Atwood is not a nice person.

**Also, I've decided to occasionally respond to some of the reviews/comments I receive regarding my story at the end of each chapter. This way I can give feedback to guest reviewers as well as acknowledge readers who have been offering me continued support of my writing.**

**Chapter Four**

"He should be home by now, Sandy," Kirsten says as she paces around the living room, worried that Ryan hasn't come home yet. "Why won't the police do anything? They should be out there looking for him!"

"Honey, you heard the police officers... they don't consider Ryan missing yet," Sandy explains, trying to remain calm as he wonders where the boy could possibly be at this time of night. "Unless they suspect foul play, all the police see is a sixteen-year-old kid staying out a little later than he should and when he does decide to come home, he'll be grounded until the end of the year."

"But it's almost ten!" Kirsten cries out in frustration. "His note said he was meeting his uncle for lunch... Lunch, Sandy! Since when does lunch last ten hours!"

"Kiki, the boy probably just ran into some friends at the pier... lost track of time..." Caleb reasons, assuming that Frank has taken his son and is perfectly safe.

"Ryan is a very responsible kid... he would have called," Kirsten explains to her father.

"You haven't known the boy for very long," Caleb reasons, perplexed his daughter is so worried about a teenager staying out a little later than he should. "He's probably at a party having a great time and forgot to call."

"On a Tuesday night? It's not exactly a popular night for parties," Kirsten points out to her father. "What about that special investigator you hire occasionally... do you have him out looking for Ryan?" Kirsten asks as she vigorously rubs her arms to stave off the chill in the air.

"Yes, sweetheart... I called Karl and he's got his investigator out searching for the boy," Caleb lies as he tries to appease his distraught daughter.

"Honey, we need to stay calm," Sandy says as he walks over to his wife and puts his arms around her. "We've already driven around town three times looking for Ryan. We've called the Coopers... they haven't seen him..."

"He took his bike, Sandy," Kirsten interrupts as she extricates herself from her husband's embrace, preferring to wrap her arms around herself for comfort. "Something's happened to him... I don't know what... but, I know something's wrong... I can feel it!"

Sandy runs his fingers through his hair and sighs as he sorts through his thoughts. _If the kid had an accident while on his bike, we would have heard something by now, _Sandy reasons to himself. _If he hooked up with friends after visiting his uncle, he would have called us by now. _Sandy shudders at the notion that Frank could be involved in Ryan's disappearance. _The man doesn't want anything to do with his son, _Sandy reminds himself_. It just doesn't make sense for Frank to be behind this... how could he possibly benefit by taking Ryan..._

* * *

Frank pours himself a glass of Jack Daniels and snubs out his cigarette as he lets out a hearty laugh. _That Letterman's a riot_, he thinks to himself as he shuts off the TV when he hears his son begin to stir in the other bed. Frank slowly makes his way over and hovers next to the bed, his large presence towering ominously over his son. "Well, well... it's about fuckin' time you woke up..."

"Dad?"

"Hello, son."

Ryan looks frantically around the room, trying to figure out where he is, wracking his brain to remember what has happened. "Where am I?" Ryan asks, disoriented and confused and wondering why his wrist is handcuffed to the headboard.

"Where are you?" Frank reiterates, his tone of voice unnerving as he leans in closer towards his son. "Why, you're in a luxurious, five-star motel room," Frank says mockingly, "complete with peeling paint, stained sheets and an entire array of creepy crawlies not visible to the naked eye."

Ryan swallows and turns his face away, not wanting to look at the man who has done nothing but take pleasure in tormenting him, his brother and his mother.

"Look at you... all grown up," Frank mutters with a devious grin. "You were always a good-lookin' kid... betcha gotta fight off the girls, huh?" Frank firmly grabs ahold of his son's chin, forcing the boy to look him straight in the eye. "You do like girls, right?"

Ryan nods his head "yes" as he struggles with a pounding headache and the nausea creeping up inside him. "I really need to use the bathroom," Ryan blurts out, not quite sure how his father will react.

Frank stands up straight and looks long and hard at his son. "Well, can't have you wettin' the bed now, can we," Frank says as he removes a silver chain with a key from around his neck and unlocks the handcuff.

Ryan slowly gets out of the bed and begins to make his way to the bathroom, struggling to keep his balance as his surroundings fade in and out of focus.

"Hold on a minute," Frank says as he grabs ahold of his son's arm. "Take off your clothes."

"What?"

"You heard me... take off your clothes," Frank orders as he finishes off his glass of whiskey. "Just strip down to your underwear. Jesus... what are you, shy?"

Ryan realizes it would be pointless to contend with his father as he begins to take off his shoes and socks. "Why do I have to take off my clothes?" Ryan asks as he sheds his gray hoodie and begins pulling off his pants.

"Because I don't want ya gettin' any ideas about escapin'," Frank explains as he takes his son's clothes and places them on the back of a chair. "This way, if you happen to find somethin' you think could aid you in leavin' during the night, you'll have to come up with a creative way of concealin' it," Frank says as he lets out a derisive chuckle. "And, let me tell ya... being in the slammer for nine years, I know all the creative places a person can hide things."

Ryan grimaces at his father's crudeness as he gingerly makes his way into the bathroom and begins to shut the door.

"Leave the door open," Frank orders as he picks up the phone to call Caleb Nichol.

Ryan sighs as he closes the door part way, knowing it wouldn't be prudent to argue with the man, especially when he's been drinking.

* * *

"You need to see this!" Seth announces urgently as he quickly walks into the living room and grabs the remote to turn on the evening news.

_"This just in... a man was found severely beaten in his motel room tonight. Police are still searching for a suspect in the brutal beating of Leonard James Thompson, age forty-five, from Chino. He was found in his room at the Mermaid Inn after another guest complained about the volume of his TV being too loud. Mr. Thompson has been transported to Hoag where he is listed in critical condition..."_

"Oh, my god, Sandy! That's Ryan's uncle!" Kirsten cries out as she becomes overwhelmed with worry.

"Alright, now they have to consider Ryan a missing person," Sandy states with conviction as he walks into the kitchen to call the police.

Caleb feels his cell phone vibrate in his jacket pocket and quickly takes a look to see if it's his lawyer. He glances at the caller ID and sees it's "unknown" and comes to the conclusion it must be Frank.

"Excuse me, I need to take this," Caleb announces as he quickly walks into Sandy's home office and shuts the door behind him.

"Yes?"

_"Well, hello Cal."_

"Who is this?" Caleb asks, knowing full well it's Frank Atwood, but feeling the need to feign ignorance.

_"I got my kid just like you asked..."_

"Excellent, I knew you could..."

_"I want an additional fifty grand, old man."_

"What?" Caleb asks in dismay.

_"You heard me... fifty grand plus the forty you owe me. The price of baby sittin' just went up."_

"But, that's ridiculous... this is extortion!" Caleb cries out, not enjoying this turn of events.

_"Lemme make this perfectly clear, Cal," _Frank says as if he's speaking to a long, lost friend. _"I take it you've watched the evening news... Lenny, my ex-wife's brother, was a fairly good-lookin' guy... until my 'buddies' from prison paid him a visit..."_

Caleb begins to pace around the small office, feeling a sense of dread creep up over him.

_"That grandson of yours... what's his name... Seth?" _Frank asks, thoroughly enjoying knowing the man on the other end of the line is squirming. _"He likes to skateboard down to the pier and spend time in that comic book store. You do know your grandson is obsessed with comic book heroes, right?"_

Caleb sneers at the man's complacency, loathing every word that is spoken.

_"Would be a damn shame if somethin' was to happen to him... an untimely accident... so tragic when it involves one so young..."_

"You leave my grandson out of this, do you hear me!"

_"Oh, and let's not forget about your daughter... Kirsten, right? Mighty fine lookin' lady. Would hate to see anything happen to that pretty face of hers... I do detest violence against women, ya know,"_ Frank states, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Now you listen here..."

_"No, you listen... I want my money by tomorrow morning, before ten. Gotta check out of this godforsaken rathole by eleven."_

"Fine, you'll have your money. But then you and your son had better be across the border by sundown. Have I made myself clear?"

_"Hear ya, Pops... loud and clear. It's been a pleasure doin' business with ya."_

* * *

"Who were you talking to?" Ryan asks as he emerges from the bathroom, not really feeling any better and hoping his father will be civil even though he's been drinking.

"None of your business," Frank replies as he lights up a cigarette and offers one to his son.

"No thanks," Ryan says, turning down the chance for a smoke.

"Ya don't smoke, huh. Jesus, your mom was a fuckin' chimney," Frank states, remembering one of his ex-wife's many habits. "Where is Dawn these days, anyways..."

Ryan sits down on the bed and glances at the floor, not wanting to engage in a conversation about his mother. "My head really hurts... do you have any aspirin?" Ryan asks, hoping his father will have something to alleviate his throbbing headache.

"What... do I look like a fuckin' pharmacy to you?" Frank spits out feeling the rage rise up inside him.

"No... I didn't mean..." Ryan tries to stand up and dodge away when he sees his father's right arm swing towards his face, but his reaction is too slow. He gasps in pain as he feels the blow to his cheekbone; the force of the hit sending him back down on the bed. Frank quickly grabs Ryan's right arm and places the handcuff around his wrist, securing it to the headboard.

"You need pain relief? Here... drink this!" Frank shouts as he grabs his bottle of whiskey off the side table.

"No! I don't want a drink!" Ryan implores as he struggles against the metal restraint.

Frank finds himself overcome with anger and frustration as he grabs ahold of Ryan's hair, forcibly pulling his head back. He straddles himself over the boy's chest and presses his right knee into his son's left arm.

Ryan cries out in pain as he feels his father's knee dig deep into the crease of his elbow.

"You're gonna drink up, boy!" Frank spits out as he lets go of his son's hair and grabs his face, pressing his fingers into his cheeks to force open the boy's mouth. "When I tell ya to drink... you drink!"

Ryan starts gagging as his father pours the acrid liquid into his mouth, feeling it burn the back of his throat. His eyes fill with tears as he continues to cough, frantically trying to spit out the biting fluid but finding himself having to swallow to keep himself from choking.

Frank is suddenly interrupted by a knock on the door and reluctantly releases the boy's face. "You behave yourself," he says, patting his son's cheek condescendingly as he walks over to answer the door.

Frank peers through the peephole and sees it's Joe and Tony, his two buddies from prison. He opens the door and steps aside, allowing the two ex-cons to enter the room. "Just ignore the kid," Frank states, walking over to the briefcase to retrieve a wad of cash. "I saw on the news you got the job done."

"Just as you asked," Tony states, looking over at Ryan and noticing the kid clad only in his underwear, looking horrifically pale.

"Here's a little keepsake for ya," Joe says as he hands Frank a polaroid picture of his severely beaten, but still very much alive, former brother-in-law.

"Excellent... here's two grand apiece," Frank says, handing the men their hard-earned money. "Don't blow it all in one place."

Frank shows the men out then turns his attention back towards his son. "Ya look like shit," he says as he lights up a cigarette and finishes what's left of his whiskey. "Get some sleep... we got a long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Ryan lets out a quiet sigh of relief as he father turns off the lights, feeling groggy and slightly dizzy, most likely the affect of the alcohol. He gingerly moves his left arm over the side of the bed and grabs the end of the bedspread, flinging it over his aching, chilled body. He turns over on his side and curls up into ball, trying to find a comfortable position to sleep with his wrist cuffed to the headboard. The neon sign shines through the small opening of the curtain, casting an eerie glow inside the room. Ryan stares at the red letters "vac", concentrating on the repetitive blinking as he feels his eyelids become heavy, lulling him to sleep.

_Tomorrow I can try to get away_, Ryan thinks to himself as he yawns and begins to drift off to sleep. _Maybe when we stop to eat or get gas... I'll be able to get away from him tomorrow..._

**Individual replies: **

**Francy-90: **I agree. I never liked Frank portrayed as a good guy. I always wanted him to wreak havoc on Ryan and the Cohen's.

**Emily: **Taylor Townsend will not be in my story. Sorry to disappoint you but this story is set in early season one and the boy's haven't even hooked up with Marissa and Summer yet. I just don't find it plausible to pair up Ryan and Taylor at this time.

**matthewsbj: **Yes, Caleb was a detestable jerk. He was also extremely arrogant and close-minded. Wish he wasn't killed off on the show. I always found the character quite intriguing and grossly underutilized.


End file.
